Thunderhorses
by Red Lioness
Summary: Animal husbandry is metal.
1. Thunderhorse

It wasn't common knowledge, but Nathan Explosion was an equestrian.

Of course, nobody would actually use the word 'equestrian'. It was far too non-metal a word. A few generous souls tried 'horseman', but the average brain seized up when trying to picture the hulking, huge man described by the word 'horseman'. What seemed to fit the best were the words of the remainder of the band.

In various accents and speech impediments, it went 'Nat'an likes horses'.

Charles had heard it mentioned before, but he hadn't paid much attention to it.

Likewise, he knew there were stables at Mordhaus, but he considered it another hobby that had captivated someone's attention for .06 seconds and then been forgotten. Of all the things Dethklok did, buying some horses and then forgetting about them was the very least of his worries.

Ofdensen had suspected there was something more to Nathan's interest when an investor at an industry party pitched the sale of a racehorse and the frontman treated the seller to a twenty minute lecture on various horse abuses replete within the racing industry, liberally laced with profanity.

"Years of f/guitar riff/ing 'selective breeding' made Thoroughbreds a s/guitar riff/load faster – but it makes 'em so f/guitar riff/ing delicate they barely survive their f/guitar riff/ing career. Did you know more than eight hundred horses die on f/guitar riff/ing tracks every year? Why isn't that s/guitar riff/t illegal? If I broke a horse's legs here, they'd f/guitar riff/ing lock me up, but on a f/guitar riff/ing racetrack it's just fine? Bull/guitar riff/t!"

It was one of those little glimpses of competence Charles got to see occasionally, like the time Toki purged a virus from his laptop, or Murderface saved him untold time and fees by notarizing a stack of legal documents. They were always pleasantly surprising.

Nathan's true prowess on horseback wasn't revealed until they shot the video for 'Thunderhorse'.

The song itself was a tad unusual for a Dethklok song, but Charles hadn't thought much of it; the boys had written metal songs about mermaids before. Dethklok could probably make kittens metal.

Then the video director had suggested Toki for the 'lead role' in the video. The director was a rather strange, sad woman who was continually trying to get the young Norwegian in various states of undress. The band had vetoed the idea instantly.

"Nat'ans should do it; he likes horses," Toki offered.

"Dood, you could probably, like, use one of your own or somethin'. Y'know, whatever," Pickles slurred.

"I could. Brutus can, like, kick on cue. We could make it look like he kicked somebody's head off. Oh, good song title 'Head-Kick-apitation!' . . . . . . .well, might need to work on that one."

"Brutus is de ones wid de furry feets?" Skwisgaar asked.

"No, Brutus is the black one. Like, which one with the furry feet? I've got three with feathers," Nathan asked.

"Eh . . . . de brown . . . and whites one?"

"That's Belladonna; I can't use her. She's pregnant."

"Yay! Babies!" Toki cried, clapping his hands.

"Oh, she can't work jusht because she's knocked up?" Murderface sneered.

"No, she could still work, she's just a b/guitar riff/h right now."

The director turned the conversation back to the video in question, but now Charles' curiosity was piqued. Upon returning to his office, he pulled the records for the grounds. Mordhaus was a palatial estate and people paid good money to come see certain parts of it that Dethklok rarely or never visited. Certain species of animals were kept and the sale of their offspring or products brought in a fair amount of money.

Charles knew the yard wolves were the favorites of the bunch and zoos routinely got in bidding wars over the large, hearty wolf pups. Various rare species of flowers were often sold off to collectors for tidy sums. Charles knew there was more to the operation than that, but as long as the numbers added up, he didn't pay more attention to the details.

To Ofdensen's shock, Nathan Explosion was the proud owner of no less than fifteen of the finest horses ever to put hoof to ground. Their breeds varied, but they were all accomplished show animals, boasted expensive pedigrees, and the stud fees from the ten stallions practically paid for the entire operation. At the moment, four stallions and two mares were on the show circuit and winning $50,000 pots often enough not to bother mentioning.

There were other little surprises; Toki apparently owned a small herd of reindeer that supplied Mordhaus with most of its venison and some of its fur needs, Murderface raised Russian boar, and a small allotment was set aside for 'Pickles' chickens'.

Charles finished up his work and made his way to the stables.

The sun was setting as the lawyer made his way to the heavily fenced section in the very rear of Mordhaus. The Gears guarding the entrance let him through without question.

A gigantic barn built from oil-blackened beams loomed over the surrounding grounds, which were fenced with split-rail fences, also blackened with oil. In the nearest grassy lot, an incredibly fat brown and white horse grazed. When Charles walked by, she lifted her head to look at him.

'That can't be natural," he thought.

The brown and white markings on the horse's face picked out two dark circles around her eyes, and two slits jutted into the white over her nostrils. A few thin, narrow spots were pocked along her lips.

It wasn't perfect, but it looked like a skull.

"So that's why they called you Belladonna," he observed.

Belladonna snorted, groaned, and farted in Charles' general direction.

"Lovely," the CFO sighed.

Charles continued into the barn. He was a city boy and not at all familiar with barns. It was far bigger than he thought it would be and he certainly wasn't prepared for the smell, but everything *looked* clean enough, so maybe that was the way barns smelled.

He started down the aisle, peering into empty stalls. All of them were huge and bore engraved name-plates. Instead of the long, flowery names that Charles had read on the registration papers, short names that you could actually use marked the stalls. Charles had no way of know which was which, but you certainly couldn't call an animal 'Lord Greystroke's Ascent to Civilization' and expect him to answer. You could, however, call him 'Tarzan'.

Charles was just starting to wonder where all of the horses were when he became aware of rushing movement behind him.

The deadly lawyer whirled, ready to defend himself.

He found himself face to face with a flock of chickens.

At least, he was pretty sure they were chickens. He had never seen long-haired chickens before. Their color ranged from all white to black and white to all black with a white head, but to a bird, they all sported wild crests that poofed up in front and hung down on the back and sides and gave the poultry an overall 'headbanger' feel.

Metal chickens.

Only the boys.

One chicken approached him and inquired: '_kuk-kaaaaawww?' in a tone of such curiosity Charles felt a twinge of regret that he didn't know what the rooster was asking for._

"I'm sorry; I don't speak chicken," Ofdensen stated. "Um . . . . good day."

He started back down the aisle, only to hear the shuffle of scaly feet on concrete. Charles looked over his shoulder to see the chickens following him.

He stopped.

The chickens stopped.

He started walking again.

The chickens started walking again.

Just when he was considering ducking into a nearby stall to shake them, he spotted a Klokateer coming out of an enclosed stall with two large buckets. Charles skittered towards the man, intent on rescue.

"Gear! The . . . the chickens are following me," he muttered, feeling like an idiot.

The Gear peered around him at the flock, nodded, set his buckets down and stepped back into the stall. Up close, Charles could see the stall was filled with metal garbage cans, large plywood boxes, buckets filled with brushes, ropes aplenty and various other devices he couldn't even begin to put a name to.

The Gear popped the lid off of a garbage can and reached into it. He came up with a double handful of black sunflower seeds.

"They're horrible beggars, sir," The Gear informed him, throwing the seeds down the aisle.

The chickens were instantly pecking and scratching at the treats, Charles forgotten.

"Chickens can beg for treats?"

"Aye, sir, the Lords spoil them."

An image of Murderface scattering seeds like a flower girl traipsed across Charles' mind before he could really stop it.

"Wh-where are all the horses?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Out in the fields this time a' day, sir."

"Oh. Well, thank you. Carry on," Ofdensen said.

The Gear nodded, picked up his buckets and started down the aisle.

Charles followed him, looking around. Now that he got used to it, the smell wasn't all bad smell, there were grassy smells and dusty smells and a few that he couldn't quite place but they weren't entirely bad, just . . . . very organic. He paused for a few moments when he spotted a large room filled with wagons, carriages, buggies and sleighs, all black and all decorated to look very metal.

More noise drew Charles' attention forward. The CFO crosses a large cross path and suddenly the scale of the place took a turn for the smaller. The stalls got smaller and shorter; the halters hanging on the stalls looked practically miniature and -

Something banged loudly ahead. Charles hurried forward to see the Gear he had been following pouring the contents of his buckets into a long, low trough. Grunting and blowing, a herd of reindeer pushed through the narrow doorway and started chowing down. A few of them wanged their antlers on the metal doors, causing loud bangs. This didn't seem to slow them down for an instant.

Interesting. These must be Toki's reindeer.

Charles continued on out the back of the barn, following the path that ran alongside the reindeer enclosure. He spotted another barn a few hundred yards away, this one low and long. The lawyer only got another fifty feet closer when the smell hit him.

With a stench like that, it could only be Murderface's pigs.

Gagging, Charles circled around the outside of the barn in an effort to escape.

Charles picked his way around the front of the barn, eschewing the rank stink of pig for the more acceptable stink of deer and horse. A noise like muted thunder reached his ears and he looked up to see horses galloping across the fields.

Charles didn't know anything about horses. He could just about hazard a guess on which way you were supposed to face while riding them, but anything beyond that was out of his purview. When even _he could tell the animals Nathan owned were beautiful horses, they must have been drop-dread gorgeous._

They were all large; Nathan explosion was a big man and heavy set. The heavy metal beast had a soft spot for animals and probably wouldn't force a small one to attempt to carry him. He'd err on the side of generosity and find the biggest horses out there to tote around his bulk. Of course, he'd never say 'err on the side of generosity', but that's what he would be doing.

Black was the main color for most of the animals, some with white on their faces or feet. Belladonna had been allowed in because of her skull marking, even in a more common color of brown. Two separate herds in two separate fields galloped by, pulling up short just shy of the gate and rearing and bucking. They were having fun and playing. They stopped and stared over the fences at a distant figure. Some of them went back to running around. A few cast a distracted glance at Charles.

Ofdensen squinted in the afternoon light, trying to see what they were looking at. Something big was moving across a distant field. The manager climbed up onto the board fence and stared hard.

He had heard or read somewhere once that 'it was hard to tell where the horse left off and the man started'. At the time he thought it was ridiculous bullshit. The man started where the horse stopped and in all of his limited experience in seeing people riding horses, he had never had trouble distinguishing the dividing line.

Watching Nathan ride bareback across the field made him realize how that saying came about.

As powerful legs reached out in a stride, Nathan's own legs gripped the broad ribs and moved fluidly, with absolutely no break in motion. It was if they were truly moving as one. Nathan's hips moved - no, _flowed - forward and back in perfect time with his mount's back, almost . . . almost __thrusting._

Charles felt a little color touch his cheeks.

He had a major crush on Nathan Explosion.

Like every other crush he'd had in his life, it was destined to go unrequited, but Charles still had it. A tiny hint of it had come out when he'd gone drinking with the boys and ended up playing with Nathan's hair, but evidently the band had written it off as drunken affection. Good thing, too. Nathan liked women, that much was obvious. No one liked the robot. It would complicate things. Charles had enough complications in his life.

Something hot and soft nudged Charles' thigh. The CFO looked down to see a black horse sniffing at his pants pocket. For a moment, he was tempted to jerk back, but he remembered the chickens begging for treats. This huge equine was probably doing the same thing.

"I don't have anything for you," he informed the beast. "And I doubt you'd be satisfied with sunflower seeds."

The horse ignored his words and lipped at something in Charles' pocket.

"I don't have any apples or carrots. Just . . . what are these?" The lawyer dug the lumps out of his pocket and inspected them. "Oh; peppermints Toki gave me. But horses don't eat . . . "

He trailed off as the horse lapped up the candies, plastic wrapping and all, and crunched them happily.

"Ah. I stand corrected."

More horses were heading his way, having seen one of their number get treats. Charles climbed down off of the fence and walked away before the others could show up and be disappointed at him.

He followed the path as it twisted back and forth between pens and barn. Horse grazed, played and watched Charles pass with equine curiosity. Toki's deer must have had the run of the place on the other side of the barns, because Charles didn't see any of them here. Presently, the manager found himself back by Belladonna's pen and prepared to head back to Mordhaus.

A groan made him look over.

Belladonna was lying flat out on her side. That wasn't good, was it? Horses weren't supposed to lie down like that, were they? Was she sick? Was she -

Belladonna tensed, her legs stiffening. She held the position for about a minute, and then relaxed with another groan.

Wait - how pregnant was she?

Charles moved around until he could see the horse's rear end and got his answer. The answer was: extremely. In fact, so extremely that she was about to stop being pregnant.

Two little hooves, covered in blood, mucus, and other fluids, peeped out into the world. Belladonna strained and the hooves slipped forward a few inches. When she relaxed, they slid back inside.

Charles looked alarmed. They weren't supposed to go back in after they were out, were they? Was Belladonna having trouble? Could she die?

The thought of Nathan's horse dying struck a nerve in the manager and he was on his feet in an instant running back into the barn, searching for the Gears. The pair that had been feeding Toki's reindeer earlier was nowhere to be found. Charles circled through the barns twice searching for them.

It never occurred to him to check the farrowing barns amongst Murderface's pigs.

Charles ran back to Belladonna's pen. It didn't look as though the legs had made any progress. The manager groaned to himself and climbed through the fence. Belladonna only looked up once as he approached, then lay back down with a groan. Charles fretted harder. If a wild animal like a horse wasn't even alarmed when he was approaching her while she was in labor, it must be very bad indeed!

In truth, Belladonna, like all of Nathan Explosion's horses, equated humans with food, scratches, and comfort. The occasional swat with a riding crop or open hand did little more than hurt their feelings. Belladonna was very uncomfortable right now, but here came a human, so he was probably going to help. Well bred, pedigreed horses like her were watched like hawks during labor; every one of her babies had been born with human supervision. Charles' company did little more than assure her things were progressing normally.

Bella tensed again and this time a little nose appeared on top of the legs, poised in a diver's position.

Charles ran his hands shakily through his hair as the nose slipped back out of view. This was very, very bad! Once the head was out that was supposed to be it, wasn't it? The lawyer grimaced as he stripped off his suit jacket and tie. Tossing the expensive silk garments onto the grass, he rolled up his sleeves, crouched down and took hold of the little forelegs. When Bella pushed again, Charles pulled. The nose reappeared and this time the whole head came into view. When the mare ceased pushing, the baby was drawn back in slightly. The manager tried to keep a grip on the half-born foal to keep this from happening, but he sack tore from around the baby's legs and head, sending Charles sprawling in the dirt.

The foal hung limply from his mother's passage. After a moment, the half-born creature flopped as he tried to get up. It ended up crashing back to the dirt, tiny nostrils flaring as it struggled to draw a breath.

It couldn't breathe? It couldn't breathe! The baby's ribcage was still trapped in Belladonna's birth canal. If it didn't pass through soon, it would suffocate!

Charles struggled back to the baby's side and wrapped his hands around the front legs just above the knees.

"Come on now; you have to live, little one! As much death as the boys are surrounded with, they need a little life, too! Come on!"

Bella pushed once more, Charles pulled and for a long, tense moment, nothing happened.

Then the foal's shoulders slipped from the birth canal. Unlike human babies with their large heads, horses need to get their shoulders free and the rest of the body usually slips free quite easily.

One hundred pounds of infant equine slid into Charles' lap, soaking him with blood and fluid.

The newborn thing – he hesitated to call it little! – panted and blew as it tested it out its lungs. Belladonna lay panting herself. As she had just pushed something the size of a Great Dane through an opening the size of a football, Charles could hardly blame her. The foal lifted its head and looked around at the bright new world.

"Wow . . . look at you," Ofdensen observed. The baby was black with large white spots across his body. His? Hers? Charles didn't know and he didn't feel like checking. It was a boy until proven otherwise.

The baby flopped again, flailing out with legs that seemed far too long for its small body. The effect was not unlike Bambi trying to ice skate. The action did serve to tear the sack that still covered the baby's hind legs.

Charles did his best to push the remnants off of the foal, thoroughly filthy and soiled as he was.

The foal made a squeaking, snorting noise. Belladonna rolled onto her stomach and looked over her shoulder at her offspring. She let out a soft, soothing whicker that was an unmistakable 'Mommy loves you!' noise. The baby definitely responded, squeak/snorting again and attempting to get his feet underneath him.

"What are you doing?"

Charles started. Standing on the other side of the fence, looking at him incredulously, was Nathan. Charles suddenly had a very good idea of what he looked like; smeared with dirt, blood, and fluids he didn't even know the names for. Oh yes, with a newborn foal in his lap.

"Um . . . I . . . uh. . . she was – having trouble. So I had to help," Charles offered.

"Huh. Really." Nathan climbed over the fence in what seemed like two steps. "That's kinda weird."

"OOAAAHHH! BELLA HADS HER BABIES!" Toki squealed, hurtling around the corner. The Norwegian didn't even have to climb; he simply vaulted over the wooden barrier.

The foal decided with all these newcomers, he really needed to be upright. The baby fought to his feet in a move that was one part instinct and two parts wild flailing. He straddled Charles' lap, long, spindly legs braced outwards. The expression on the infant's face clearly said: Holy crap, what do I do now?

"Uh . . .you might wanna – " Nathan began.

The baby lost his balance and crash landed on Charles' head. The soft, fuzzy baby with the too long legs disappeared as a creature that seemed to be put together from bloody slime and baseball bats flailed on the lawyer's face.

Toki hurried forward and picked the baby up bodily before it could break something; most likely Charles. He carried the little one out of harms' way and deposited him in front of his mother. Bella mommy-whickered again and started to lick her little one.

Nathan hauled Charles to his feet.

"It's . . . it's weird that she was having trouble, 'cause Bella's had five babies and she's never had a problem before," the lead singer observed.

Charles gave him a look of disbelief.

"The baby was sliding back in after she would push it out! That's not supposed to happen, is it?"

Nathan Explosion was curiously silent.

"She was perfectly fine, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, probably." Nathan admitted with a grin.

Charles took in the new baby, who was toddling along on his first shaky steps. Bella heaved herself to her feet to follow him, whickering and licking at the wet baby. Then he looked down at his blood and fluid sodden self, his expensive silk suit good for nothing but the trash heap.

"Well . . . . for the record, I tried."

To his surprise, Nathan laughed out loud and slapped a hand on his back.

"Ya did good, Robot!"

"Nat'ans, is a little girl!" Toki declared. The guitarist paced patiently along beside the baby, letting her crash into him instead of the fence.

"Ya did real good," Nathan repeated.

Charles soaked in the atmosphere of Nathan being pleased with him. He felt warmth stir in the deep recesses of his heart, but he tried not to let it show.

It would complicate things.

"Come on; we should get you cleaned up," Nathan declared.

Charles started at this, looking down at his disgusting clothes.

"But –"

"Toki's good at imprinting babies. He's out here all the time when his reindeer are calving. He'll be fine."

Nathan shoved Charles towards the barn before he could protest further and dragged the manager into a large stall lined entirely in tile and floored only in rough concrete. Charles took it in curiously. This was a strange stall. It looked like a big, horse – sized . . . . _shower_.

The sound of a faucet being turned on made him start. He turned to see Nathan aiming a hose towards him with a smirk. Charles ducked, expecting the horrid shock of cold water. To his surprise, the water washing over him was pleasantly warm.

"Horses don't like to shower in cold water either," Nathan explained.

"Oh. Well. I guess that is understandable," Charles allowed.

Nathan walked closer to him, holding the hose up so that it was a similar height to a regular shower. Charles tried to scrub the worst of the mess from his face and hair.

"You could . . . . um . . . . you could probably get cleaner if . . . y'know. . . you took off your clothes."

Charles blinked owlishly at the lead singer from behind his water-speckled glasses.

"I could go get some of my riding clothes from the tack room. They'd be big, but . . . y'know, clean and dry and stuff," Nathan offered.

"You want me to strip naked and shower in front of you?"

Green eyes raked over him thoughtfully.

"I don't mind," Nathan murmured.

Okay, this would definitely complicate things! As clear as day, Charles Ofdensen heard a familiar voice lisp "Shometimes you gotta do something 'caushe your **heart** tellsh you it'sh the right thing to do."

Quick as a wink, Charles reached up and jerked Nathan's arm, causing the hose to spray the lead singer in the legs. Nathan looked down at his wet jeans in shock.

"Your pants are all wet, too," Charles observed.

A slow smile spread across both men's faces.

Toki was leaning on the fence, watching the new filly nurse when Nathan and Charles rejoined him, both dressed in Nathan's riding clothes.

"She looks like she's doing well," Charles observed.

"Yeah, she's sucking like a bilge pump," Nathan declared.

Toki gave them both a sidelong look.

"Oh! Uh . . . I uh . . . got stuff on me when I was helping Charlie get cleaned up," Nathan said by way of explanation. "So I changed too. And took a shower."

"Okays . . ." Toki sighed.

'Uh oh . . .' Charles thought.

"So, . . . . . . . . . uh . . . . . did you get her imprinted?" Nathan continued, obvlious to the sudden knowing tone.

"_Ja_. Rubbeds hers all over, gots her used to peoples, dipped her cord in iodines. . . Iodines whats was in de tack room."

_Now _Nathan caught on.

"Toki, don't be a dick!" he snarled.

"Charlies," the guitarist said innocently. "I t'inks my reindeer coulds use their owns barn, don't you? What's with de expanding herd and everyt'ings?"

"Dick move, Toki!"

"Nathan, it's fine. I'm sure Toki's reindeer deserve their own barn. I'll see to it in the morning."

Toki beamed as though it were Christmas and skipped off towards Mordhaus.

"You didn't have to do that!" Nathan growled. "Just threaten to not be pals with him anymore; he caves instantly."

"You boys are so mean to him! Nathan, if Toki has his own barn that means he won't be in this one nearly as much."

"Oh –Ooooooooooooh . . . . . you ever f/guitar riff/k on a Corinthian leather saddle?"


	2. Hung Like Einstein

A few weeks after Charles' introduction to the stables, he found a large envelope on his desk. The CFO slit open the manila envelope and found several large glossy photographs of the foal he had so graciously helped bring into the world.

Clean and dry and in broad daylight, her black markings proved to be more of a deep grey than actual black. Aside from that, she looked absolutely adorable and Charles felt a twinge of pride that he had played midwife to such a cute little thing. Under the pictures, he found a single sheet of paper that proved to be the baby's registration paper. Apparently, she was something called a 'Drum Horse' and her name was –

Charles blinked and checked again to make sure he had the right name.

No, it **was** correct; the baby's name was CFO's Deadly Nightshade.

On a sticky note plastered on the bottom of the page, Nathan's handwriting scrawled: 'She's yours on one condition. You have to come down to the barns after work for a riding lesson.'

A riding lesson?

Charles nearly snorted. Since when did he have time to ride horses? He had phone calls to make and deals to set up and teddy bears to find. Nathan was better off riding – Nathan in riding breeches. Lots of Nathan in riding breeches. Also, lots of leather straps conveniently on hand and the smell of leather and a shower stall that was 12 x 14 feet.

Maybe . . . maybe he would be knocking off early today. He should go check on little Deadly Nightshade.

A Klokateer leaned in the door and carefully put folded riding clothes on the chair nearest the door and then set a pair of high riding boots next to it.

"Am I that easy, Gear?" the manager asked coolly.

"Lord Nathan seems to think so," the hood offered neutrally before fleeing back into the hallway.

He missed seeing a rare smile.

The boots he could get used to, Charles reflected. He was certain these riding breeches weren't decent to wear in public.

The manager had thrown a sweater on over the white dress shirt that had been left in his office and hoped it slipped down far enough to hide his business. Well, it was just for Nathan. The lead singer could see Charles in whatever obscene state he wished.

Another rare smile graced the lawyer's face as he entered the barn heading towards the indoor arena.

As he passed the tack room a strong hand circled around his arm and yanked him inside.

"You're too eager, you – TOKI!" Charles quickly aborted his attempt to snake his arms around his 'kidnapper's' neck. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Charlies . . . I gots to ask yous a question," the guitarist hissed.

"All right. Um . . . why did you have to drag me in here for that?"

Toki fidgeted.

"Is . . . is a privates question."

"Ah. . . . . all right. What is it?"

Toki took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself . . .

. . . and promptly unzipped his pants and pulled them down around his knees.

"Dere. What yous t'inks?"

Charles was already looking away and had one hand covering his eyes. He had initiated the action halfway through the zipper being drawn down. What the hell was Toki thinking? Was this a come on? What the hell was he supposed to say?

"V-very nice?"

"It _supposed_ to looks likes dat?"

Charles' normally eloquent thoughts were slamming into each other like derailing train cars.

Toki knows what a c/guitar riff/k look like! Murderface plays bass with his! Why the hell is he showing his c/guitar riff/k to me? What does he mean 'is it supposed to look like that?' Doesn't it look like a normal one?

"'Cause I seen Murderface's an' I saw yours when you and Nat'ans was f/guitar riff/king in de shower stall and mine don't look like nobody else's."

"W-what?"

"Come on; joos not even looking!"

"Toki," Charles squeaked, eyes still averted. "Why are you asking _me_ this?"

"'Cause yous is gay; you probably seen lots a' c/guitar riff/ks."

"N-Nathan-,"

"Oh, I couldn'ts ask Nat'an! Dat's would be weird."

"Toki, *this* is fairly weird."

"It's weird? I knew it! I's deformed!"

"I meant this situation! I'm sure you're not – I'm sure you're perfectly normal, Toki!"

"Sometimes de groupies changes deir minds when dey sees it! Dere's something wrong!"

At a loss, Charles flipped his hand up briefly and took a look.

"Oh for the . . . you aren't circumcised, Toki, that's all!"

"Ceercum-zizeds? What means dis?"

"When you're a little baby, they cut off your foreskin and it makes it easier for your mother to keep you clean. They usually do it before they send you home from the hospital," Charles explained, going back to staring at the wall and hiding his eyes with one hand.

"Dey _**cuts it off?**_"

"They don't feel a thing," Charles assured him. "It happens all the time."

"Oh, I wasn'ts born in de hospital," Toki murmured, taking a thoughtful look at his junk.

Charles had the very uncharitable thought that the young Norwegian was likely born in a barn. Maybe a ditch.

"Sos . . . if I hads a lady in mys room and she wasn't sure abouts de looks of my c/guitar riff/k, all I has to say is 'Is okays, baby, I's just not ceercumzized?'"

"Yes, I'm sure that would reassure her. Can you pull your pants up now? That's very distracting."

"Why nobody recognize it? Is its really weird to nots be ceercumzized?"

Charles, feeling his neck start to cramp, turned his head to face the door, switching 'shielding' hands.

'This couldn't have happened three months ago; oh no, Toki has to pick when I'm actually starting a relationship,' Charles thought. 'Is he touching himself? Oh god, he is. I have to get out of here.'

From what he could see, the guitarist was curiously inspecting his genitalia as though he'd never seen them before.

"Toki, I really need to go; Nathan's waiting on me," the manager tried, sidling towards the door.

"Whats was dis parts called again? De little hood?"

Before Charles could answer, the door to the tack room opened. Nathan Explosion lurked in the doorway, taking in the scene before him with ever widening eyes.

"N-Nathan . . ."

"TOKI, WHAT THE F/GUITAR RIFF/K?" the singer roared.

In the same breath, one massive hand locked onto Charles' arm and slung him around so that he was behind Nathan.

So that Nathan was between Charles and Toki.

'He's. . . protecting me?' Charles wondered.

"I just asks him a question!" Toki barked. "You no gots to jerks him away likes I attacking him! Ninja Deaths Lawyer could probably kick bot' our a/guitar riff/ses!"

"That doesn't mean I would like to try," Ofdensen stated.

"What the f/guitar riff/k kind of question do you gotta ask with your – Oh F/guitar riff/K! What's wrong with your dick?"

"I's not ceercumzized!" Toki stated. "An' Charlies say it's perfectly naturals!"

"That's what an uncut c/guitar riff/k looks like?"

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Charles snapped before the situation could deteriorate into name-calling, then deteriorate further into a fist fight. Ninja Death Lawyer or not, he really had absolutely no urge to throw himself between Dethklok's two resident heavyweights.

"Toki, why uh . . . why was it important that you ask someone about this now?"

"Well . . ." a faint blush touched the Norwegian's cheeks and he looked as bashful and innocent as it's possible to look with your c/guitar riff/k swinging in the breeze. "Dere's . . . dis girl . . ."

"A girl?"

"I mets her at de Wish for Somet'ings Foundation fundraiser. Oh, she's funny and smarts and she plays a Gibson SG Heritage wit' de cherry wood front. An' she's so little it looks huge on her! So cutes!"

"Is that the one that pulled the decorative shields off the wall and went sledding down the staircases?" Charles asked. "And you joined her?"

"Yeah, but dat's was after security mades us stop sliding downs de laundry chute."

"How do you take a piss?" Nathan wondered.

The front man was still staring curiously at Toki's penis.

"What's you mean, how I takes a piss? De normal way!"

"There's stuff in the way!"

"That's his foreskin," Charles corrected.

"Whatever. It's like, covering the hole," Nathan pointed out.

"It moves out de way; see?"

Charles let his forehead thunk solidly between Nathan's shoulder blades.

'Oh God, he's demonstrating! He wants his c/guitar riff/k ready for inspection because he's trying to get a girlfriend! That would be really cute if it weren't for this situation happening right now! Wait a minute . . . Toki's demonstrating his c/guitar riff/k for MY Nathan?'

"And then it just creeps back to where it was. Dude, that's freaky," Nathan growled.

Charles reached up and fisted his hand in the long fall of silky black hair. Nathan turned to look over his shoulder and the fist tightened, holding the lead singer in place.

"If you're quite through drooling over Toki, we were _supposed_ to be having a riding lesson," Charles hissed.

"Uh ohs, Nat'an, I t'inks your girlfriend jealous!" Toki snickered, finally pulling his pants up.

"I am not his _girlfriend_, Toki!"

"You aren't?" Nathan rumbled.

Charles blinked up at the huge singer.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I am not a girl," he stated coldly.

"Well, yeah, but like . . . . y'know . . . . you're the woman."

The pregnant silence was only broken by Toki sidling out the door.

"I may be the submissive one _in bed_," Charles spat. "But I am still a man!"

"I know that! Why are you pissed at me? _**I'm**_ the one who should be mad!" Nathan snarled back.

"Who do _you_ reserve the right to be angry?"

"'Cause you didn't walk on some hard-bodied Norwegian boytoy waving his uncut c/guitar riff/k at me!"

"Toki was just confused! I didn't _want _to look at his c/guitar riff/k! You know what? This is ridiculous."

"You think I'm stupid?" Nathan challenged.

"I think it's stupid that we're snapping at each other when this is obviously all Toki's fault."

Slow on the uptake he may have been, Nathan knew a scapegoat when he saw one. If there was any way he could still wrangle getting laid in the immediate future, foisting blame off of Charles and onto someone else worked beautifully.

"Yeah! F/guitar riff/king Toki! He knew we were together! He shouldn'ta been showing his wang to anybody but that girl he's after!"

"Exactly. And just for the record, I much prefer a beefy American to a Norwegian boytoy. You really didn't have anything to worry about."

"Well, you're pretty hard-bodied, too. Under that prim little suit . . . . you're like . . . yow." Nathan's ever present growl softened to a purr.

"Is that right?" Charles breathed, stepping closer.

Another growl/purr of agreement.

"Do we have to go for that riding lesson right this second?"

"Nemo won't mind waiting," Nathan assured him.

Nemo, a terminally agreeable Percheron, did not mind waiting. He fell asleep in the sun while Nathan Explosion and Dethklok CFO Charles Ofdensen made a disheveled mess of the tack room. When they emerged for the lesson, the big black horse was tacked up and, still half-groggy from sleep, behaved like an angel for Charles.

Nathan declared the lawyer to be a natural born rider, even though Ofdensen didn't take well to trotting.

For some odd reason.


	3. Pearls Before Swine

Charles was starting to understand why the boys had their livestock.

He had thought it odd that the heavy metal beasts went all farm boys at the beginning. Nathan he quickly understood. Horses were neat. Toki's obsession he could see; the reindeer no doubt reminded him of home. Murderface probably enjoyed having something around that smelled worse than he did. Charles didn't really start glimpsing the deeper meaning behind things until Toki started teaching his reindeer to pull.

The rhythm guitarist actually had a team of reindeer that knew how to pull carts and wagons, but he was introducing two new members to their ranks.

The new barn for the reindeer had sprung up seemingly overnight. The horse and pig barns were placed several hundred yards from each other in almost a straight line; the new reindeer barn and pens were perpendicular to the already existing facilities. Together they formed what was almost a cloverleaf of heavy metal agriculture.

Charles noticed that Nathan, Toki, and Murderface tended to congregate in the center for odd jobs. The bandmates would yell questions or comments to each other across the space and occasionally just sit and take in the atmosphere.

This particular day, Nathan and Charles were sitting just outside of the horse barn, ostensibly cleaning tack, but really just hanging out. Toki had strapped the luckless new recruit in between two more experienced reindeer and was driving them back and forth through the barnyard.

The young Norwegian, his hair in a fat plait down his back, sat in a flat wooden cart that was little more than a table on wheels. He clucked and cooed to his deer in his native tongue; always gentle, always soothing. The three reindeer stretched out in a single line ahead of him. At first the new deer – a pure white one – thrashed and shook and fought the harness. Toki never raised his voice, just clucked and cooed some more.

After ten minutes of such bratty antics, the rearmost deer lunged forward and caught the youngster a wallop with her antlers. The white deer shot forward and crashed into the deer in front of him, who dished out a nasty kicking until the white deer backed up to a respectful distance.

Toki merely watched this until the trio settled, then clucked them into movement again. Now the white deer was less concerned with bratting out and more concerned with maintaining the proper distance from his elders. The wheel deer didn't tolerate the white one shirking the harness; whenever she felt her load increase more than she considered fair, she'd tap her young workmate with an antler until he picked up the pace.

"Toki isn't really teaching that white deer, is he?" Charles asked. "The other two are doing the teaching."

"Yeah," Nathan growled. "Toki doesn't really have the heart to be that mean to them."

Apparently pleased with the white deer's progress, Toki drove the little team into the reindeer barn and began to put them away with the help of a Gear or two.

Murderface came out of his farrowing barn and took a wheelbarrow full of canned beer from a Klokateer, then wheeled in back into the building.

"William likes to get drunk in the pig barn?" Charles asked.

Even though he was invited by the bass player the CFO still hadn't braved entering the pig barn. He just couldn't take the smell.

"What? Oh, no, he feeds his pigs beer," Nathan announced.

A cacophony of screams and squeals erupted from the barn as the denizens realized that beer was on tap. Only the fact that his hands were covered with Neatsfoot oil kept the lawyer from rubbing his eyes. Charles settled for rubbing the back of his wrist against his forehead.

"Of course he does. Can I ask why?"

" . . . uh . . . 'cause they like it? It's funny as hell; he just tosses the whole can to 'em and they crush it, drink the beer and spit out the cans."

"Metal," Charles commented dryly.

"No, it's just funny. Sometimes they eat dead Klokateers. _That's_ metal."

Charles made a mental note to never go into the pig barn for any reason whatsoever.

He said as much to Nathan, who chuckled.

"You think every one of these horses couldn't kill you in two seconds if they felt like it?" the lead singer asked.

"Well, I'm sure they are strong enough to, but—"

"Even Toki's reindeer can be dangerous."

"I'm aware of that," Charles started. "It's the eating me after I'm dead part I find distasteful."

"What do you think we do to them?"

"Point taken, however –" Whatever else the lawyer had to say on the subject was cut off as a hairy snout nudged his elbow and went '_Grrrrrrnnnnk'_. Charles looked up from oiling his stirrup leathers to see a completely _enormous_ pig standing next to him. The lawyer shot across Nathan's lap uttering profanities in a voice so shrill it set the yard wolves howling.

They weren't the only ones doing so; Nathan slapped his knee and guffawed. There was no other word for that deep, rude belly laugh. Charles regained his feet and glared at both the wayward pig and his lover.

"How long did you see that thing sneaking up behind me?" he demanded.

"Long enough!" Nathan snorted, wiping at his eyes. "Its just Nancy!"

"You just told me they eat people! I don't care if its just Nancy!"

'Nancy' sniffed at the tack items Charles had left behind and, finding little of interest, stepped over them to nudge Nathan with her snout and grunt. The lead singer patted her head absently and continued to giggle in a most un-metal way.

"Muh – MURDERFACE! NANCY'S OUT AGAIN!" he bellowed.

"Oh, hi yas, Nancy!" Toki called.

The reindeer apparently tended to, Toki came out into the middle ground to greet Nancy. The big pig started towards Toki, meeting him a little less than half-way. The speckled porcine didn't _seem_ like a bloodthirsty killer. She let Toki scratch her back, making happy little grunts the whole while.

Murderface came out of the pig barn with a can of beer in one hand.

"*There* she ish. Nancshy, how do keep getting the latch undone?"

"She don'ts wants to be in dat pens all alones!" Toki insisted, still scratching her back.

Charles watched this whole interaction from the safety of a few feet away, one hand on Nathan's shoulder for security.

"Nancy?"

"Nancy. She's one of Murderface's favorites. I don't think he'd ever eat _her_."

"True devotion," Charles said dryly.

Murderface tossed the can of beer to Nancy, who crushed it with no effort, spraying beer across Toki and Murderface's knees. The two guitarists laughed hysterically at this.

"I suppose it's safe to pet her?" Charles asked.

"Yeah, probably," Nathan said.

Thinking this was a good a recommendation as he was going to get from Nathan Explosion, Charles stepped away from the security of his lover to approach the huge pig. Toki was still scratching her back, but stepped back to allow the manager room to get closer. Charles patted the broad back gingerly.

"Nancy, eh?"

"Well, look at the robot!" Murderface cried. "Shee? Nanschy's so nicshe she can charm macschines."

Charles rolled his eyes, but ignored this.

"Does she let herself out often?"

"Only when she wantsh to be f/guitar riff/ked."

Charles stopped breathing for a moment.

'Oh dear God, someone please elaborate for the city boy. My mind is going to a bad, bad place and I don't want it to!'

Toki came to his rescue.

"Murderface only gots one boar whats Nancys will f/guitar riff/k. She loves him!"

"Yeah, you love him a lot, don't you, Nancshy?" Murderface went to one knee and hugged the big pig. "Meatloaf'sh your hushband!"

"The other pig's name is 'Meatloaf'?" Charles asked, desperately relieved.

Maybe it was his imagination, but Nancy's little contented grunts seemed to get a little more excited at the mention of the name.

"That'sh what he wash gonna be before Nancshy fell in love with him. But I couldn't break her heart like that! I'm not cruel! 'Sides," Murderface leaned against his pig and for just a moment, his expression softened. "A lady that devoted to her man ish worth pampering. Even if she ish a pig."

"Dat's true," Toki sighed, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Hey, uh, is thet pig supposed to be wahnderin' around like thet?"

"Pickle!" Toki cried.

The drummer wandered into the barnyard with a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Ahfdensen?" Pickles seemed very confused to find Charles in residence. "What're you doin' here?"

"I come down in the evenings to ride," the CFO answered.

"Oh. Didn't know ya did thet." At a loss for anything else to say, Pickles took a swig of his beer.

"What are you doing here, Pickles?" Nathan asked, approaching the group.

Charles thought it was a silly question to ask. Surely Pickles was here to check on his chickens? But . . . Charles had never seen the drummer down in the barns before. As friendly as the flock of Polish chickens were, they had to get attention fairly often.

Actually, now that he thought about it, it was Murderface who paid the most attention to the chickens.

"Toki said he was gonna put new reindeers in front of his sleigh. Thet's always funny as hell; wahtchin' 'em thrash and try t' get away. It's really okay for thet pig to be loose?"

"This is Nancy," Charles informed him.

Maybe Pickles had purchased the chickens and forgotten about them; drug addicts were not known to be the most nurturing individuals.

Nancy grunted and stepped towards Pickles, snout upraised.

Pickles eyed the huge hog and stepped carefully backwards.

Nancy stepped forward again, sniffing conspicuously.

"Why th' f/guitar riff/k is it lookin' at me like thet?"

Nancy took another step, sniffing.

"You have beer," Charles declared.

Pickles started to back away rather quickly, which led to Nancy advancing rather quickly. Murderface, Toki and Nathan were all sniggering unpleasantly when Pickles' chickens filtered out of the horse barn and approached the redhead.

If Charles thought Pickles had reacted badly to Nancy, he hadn't seen anything yet. As the Polish chickens ran towards Pickles with thoughts of sunflower seeds in their little chicken heads, the drummer yowled and scampered up the nearest high object, which happened to be Nathan.

"WHAT TH' F/GUITAR RIFF/K 'RE THOSE THINGS STILL DOIN' HERE? I TOLD JEAN-PIERRE T' COOK 'EM!" Pickles shrieked.

"Aren't they your chickens?" Charles asked. "It says that they're yours on the books."

"NO THEY AIN'T MY F/GUITAR RIFF/KING CHICKENS! THEY CHASE ME!"

"They chase everyone," Charles returned. "They want treats."

His reply was barely heard over the howling laughter of Nathan, Toki, and Murderface. Evidently, Pickles' affection for the fowl had been greatly exaggerated. He held even less affection for the six hundred pound hog rubbing at Nathan's legs, trying to slurp up the splashes of beer that slopped from the bottle Pickles still held in his hand.

"Nate, Nate, c'mon, man; don't let 'em get me . . ." the drummer whimpered.

With a sigh, Charles took the beer bottle from Pickles and back away from the group, brandishing the drink.

"Come on, Nancy; look what I have. Good pig wants to drink alcohol?"

Nancy followed her new best friend who had beer. At Charles' question, she sat on her haunches like a dog, then sat up, begging for booze.

"Oh. Well; I suppose that's a yes." The CFO upended the bottle in Nancy's mouth and she sucked it down happily.

Through pleas for friendship and threats ranging from never sharing his stash again to peeing on Nathan, Pickles got the frontman to carry him away from the dreaded chickens.

"Hey, Robot!" Murderface dug into the pockets of his shorts and came up with handfuls of sunflower seeds. The chickens instantly clustered around him. "C'mere; wanna show ya shomethin'."

Charles drew a few steps closer, unsure as to whether this was going to culminate in another prank or not.

"I'll show ya how to tell a good rooshter." William gestured to a few of the chickens with large, sickle-shaped tail feathers. "A good rooshter will call hish hensh before he eatsh."

The bass player threw the seeds across the ground. True to his prediction, the roosters made rough, clucking sounds as their hens rushed up to eat. They waited a few seconds then, satisfied that their women were taken care of, started scratching and pecking themselves.

"It'sh how they watch out for their familiesh. That funny noishe means 'Come here, Mama; Daddy found shome good food. He'sh gonna wait for you to eat, though, 'caushe he lovesh ya. He'sh gonna take care of ya.'"

Charles observed this for a few minutes.

"William?"

"I guessh you're not a total dildo shinche you like Nancshy," the bassist growled. "Nancshy! Come on; let'sh go shee Meatloaf!"

Nancy squealed happily and trotted off after Murderface as he strode back to the pig barn.

Charles watched him go, standing shin deep in chickens.

Nathan came back after a few minutes, still snickering at Pickles' freak-out over the chickens.

"He never remembers how scared he is of everything. That's awesome. Moron."

"William really likes the idea of family, doesn't he?" Charles asked.

Nathan stared at the manager for a minute, gathering his thoughts.

"Yeah. I guess. Don't tell anybody, though; it's not very metal to be into happy families."

"I think I'm starting to understand why you boys have your animals."

"Oh, s/guitar riff/t, man, don't psychoanalyze . . ."

"Toki can be firm but nice, you can be gentle, William can surround himself with affectionate creatures . . . . this is your place to be soft."

"That sounds so lame when you say it."

"Mmm. Lame or not, I suppose I could give it a try."

Charles removed his glasses and slipped them in his back pocket, then lunged forward and hugged Nathan. He buried his face in black t-shirt that smelled of Nathan and horses and more Nathan. For the time being, this current moment of softness in a brutal world, Charles rested.

Large arms curled around him and a soft growl of 'So not metal' reached his ears. But there was no heat in it. It was an automatic statement and Nathan was enjoying this moment of softness just as much as he was.

They wouldn't live happily ever after; Charles knew this already. He wasn't the sort of man who could keep a relationship going for very long. Nathan was the exact same. They lived violent lives. The Dethklok groupies favored Nathan the most. Nathan was bisexual; he'd start craving a woman again before too long. Charles was boring. Nathan would get sick of him soon. This little dream would soon be over. No, there would be no living happily ever after here.

But maybe they could have happily just long enough.


	4. Dashing Through the Snow

It was nearing Christmas.

Charles Foster Offdensen knew this the way he knew that the leaves changed color in the fall; it happened, it was part of nature, but he didn't particularly see what it had to do with _him_.

He had not experienced the most affectionate of childhoods and Christmas was one of those things that was done because to not do them was strange. There was no real affection in the rituals. A tree was put up, because everyone had a tree. It was done by a decorating service that came to drape the townhouse in swags of holly and tinsel. Presents appeared under it at the allotted time and were opened with a minimum of fuss. Charles couldn't remember if he had ever actually _enjoyed_ Christmas as a child and when he had struck out on his own the holiday was pretty much ignored.

Christmas was not ignored at Mordhaus.

Dethklok, at times, could be the worst bunch of dark and brutal metal beasts out there.

Toki adored Christmas in all its forms because he hadn't been allowed as a little boy. Skwisgaar took the opportunity to swagger around in white furs with holly in his hair, officially the worst Nihilist ever. Murderface liked to reinact the pre-Christian traditions of getting hammered and tearing things up. Pickles remained Pickles, with the slight change of now his drinks smelled of cinnamon and rum instead of just rum.

This year Nathan had discovered the tradition of the English Christmas pudding, which had been instantly adopted by the band, mostly because you got to light it on fire.

Charles was out on the grounds right now while loyal Gears rebuilt his office, only the latest on the list of Christmas pudding-related casualties.

There was something refreshing about the boys' no-holds-barred approached to Yuletide cheer. Yes, they were heavy-metal rockers, but they enjoyed Christmas too. They simply enjoyed it in their own way. It actually inspired Charles. If the boys could enjoy Christmas in their own way; so could he.

After all; he didn't need to be in the crush of Christmas shoppers buying expensive trinkets for people he didn't particularly care for. He could be here, on the grounds of Mordhaus, hearing the snow crunch under his feet and breathing the cold, crisp air. It was peaceful and quiet.

Charles made his way through the woods on the back part of the property, enjoying the silence. The yard wolves were kept away from this section as it was too close to the barns and stables. The band got touchy about the wolves eating their livestock before they got a chance to.

It felt so good to be out here. It was nice and felt festive. Charles should . . . . sing a carol or something.

If he could remember any.

Strangely, even though he'd heard the same dozen songs from since he could remember to the present several times a day for at least one month of the year, he couldn't quite bring to mind any lyrics.

Wasn't there one about dashing through the snow?

He wasn't exactly dashing, but it sounded good. That one had eight tiny reindeer in it, didn't it? No, wait, there was something about laughing all the way . . .

Jingle bells!

Oh yeah, that was the one!

In fact, he could hear bells faintly; there must be someone nearby doing something festive.

He didn't think Jingle Bells had the 'eight tiny reindeer', though . . . . well, there was something about 'bells on bobtails' . . . reindeer had short tails. He never thought it would be important to him to have such knowledge, but Toki's herd of reindeer had taught him deer-keeping secrets he never knew about, or thought of, or would ever need.

He could hear Toki's reindeer from here; that grunting, blocked-drain-coming-unclogged noise. Odd; they were pastured on the other side of the barns, which should block the noise of – were those bells getting louder?

Charles turned just in time to see eight tiny reindeer come pounding over the crest of the hill. In a calm detatched manner, he observed that reindeer didn't look all that tiny when they were running straight at you at thirty-odd miles per hour and topped with hard, sharp pointy death.

Even the cheerful bells on their harness couldn't make up for that.

In the next instant, Offdensen realized that he was standing in the middle of the trail that was about to be occupied by twelve hundred pounds of animated venison. The lawyer dove into a nearby snow bank as the charging deer rushed past, grunting and gurgling at him. Charles got a brief flash of flying brown hair and a cry of 'Sorry, lawyers-man!'

"Toki?" Charles wriggled out of the snow bank, watching the rhythm guitarist disappear around the next bend.

The sound of more bells reached his ears and he turned around to see what was, quite possibly, the largest horse he'd ever seen. The black, fuzzy behemoth sported a wide, white stripe down its nose and was decked out in more bell be-decked harness and pulling a sleigh.

"Charlie? What are you doing out here?"

"Nathan?"

The horse slowed enough so that Charles could see Nathan sitting in a black sleigh with blood red upholstery.

"What are _you –_ HEY!"

Charles could do little more than squawk in protest as Nathan leaned out of the sleigh, grabbed a fistful of his coat and threw the smaller man across his lap.

"Come on, we gotta go! Toki's gonna win!" Explosion cried, then urged his steed forward once more.

Charles wriggled upright with difficulty, fighting against every jarring lurch the sleigh made.

"What are you two _doing_?" he demanded, finally getting into a dignified pose.

"We're trying to see what's better; eight tiny reindeer or a one horse open sleigh! Go, Tank!"

The giant horse was rushing along the path at a fairly good clip, but every time he got close to Toki and his reindeer, the path would veer sharply. The reindeer dug in their cloven hooves and splayed toes and cornered as if they were on rails, while Tank and the larger sleigh would have to slow down to turn safely.

Toki howled his victory, cheerfully flipping off Nathan and calling taunts in several languages.

"Toki's winning?" Charles gawked.

"I never should have let the little s/guitar riff/t pick the course! He knows he'd lose on a straightaway! Yeah, keep laughing, f/guitar riff/ker! I'll /loooooooooooooong guitar riff/ you until the handle breaks off and you have to have a doctor f/guitar riff/king remove it!"

Even as he threatened his bandmate with violence and costly medical reconstruction, Nathan was fighting back laughter.

Charles had been in a carriage once before. It was meant to be a gift from some visiting relatives on his graduation from law school and his parents and aunt crammed into a carriage and plodded around a park in the middle of the city. At the time, he hadn't really seen the appeal.

But _this_ . . . .

_This _was different.

Racing against a team of Santa's rejects, the cold biting his cheeks while the horse pulled them, sleigh bells jangling in a sharp, staccato rhythm . . . this was fun!

This was probably what they were thinking of when they wrote the song.

_Dashing through the snow_

_In a one-horse open sleigh_

_O'er the fields we go_

_Laughing all the way_

"Nat'ans an' Charlies, sittings on da tree! Maybe if you nots stop to picks up tail, you win!" Toki called back.

If Charles' cheeks weren't already rosy from the cold, they certainly would be now. Things had been . . . . nice between him and Nathan. The sex was great, obviously and there were the beginnings of what might generously be called a relationship as long as both men realized that they weren't good at those kinds of words.

But now . . ?

"I don't know whether to be embarrassed or angry at being referred to as 'tail'!" Charles called.

"We'll kick his ass when this is over," Nathan promised. "I'll let you stomp on his head and everything."

"That's sweet. Can you do that next time Murderface is being an asshole?"

"Awww, that's just his way!"

Before they could discuss the situation further, the sleigh burst out of the woods. The track stretched straight and true back towards the barns, where the remaining members of Dethklok and quite a few Klokateers were gathered around the finish line.

Without any apparent urging from Nathan, Tank stretched his neck out and poured on the speed. Something about his attitude seemed to state that now he was on a horse's proper turf and he was not about to take any s/guitar riff/t from any f/guitar riff/ing _deer_.

Charles clutched the side of the sleigh as it flew over the hard-packed snow. Tank galloped down the straight-away, gaining on Toki's reindeer by leaps and bounds. The reindeer seemed to realize they were losing their one chance at validity. They flattened down, reached out and _flew_ over the snow.

No wonder people thought they could fly.

The two teams hurtled towards the finish line, cheering Klokateers urging them on.

Toki stood up in his sleigh and cracked a whip over the heads of his reindeer. He never made contact and since the deer didn't actually run any faster it seemed to be strictly for show. It looked cool.

'What a metal Christmas,' Charles thought.

The moment of calm detachment passed as they bore down on the finish line running neck and neck. The next thing Charles knew, the crowd was passed and Nathan was pulling Tank in a wide circle away from the reindeer, growling 'Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .'

Tank eventually slowed to a walking pace, dancing in place and obviously still pumped from the race. Toki, after performing a similar wide circle opposite of Nathan, pulled his jittery deer closer to the frontman and his passenger.

"Who won?" Toki called.

"I dunno!" Nathan returned. "They were supposed to take a picture!"

"That was fun," Charles announced.

Frontman and guitarist looked at the manager as though they had never seen him before.

"What? It was fun!"

"Doods, dat was cool!" Pickles called, approaching them. He stopped about twenty feet away from Tank and didn't seem to be keen to get any closer.

"Tokis, you dids nots tells me de reindeers came in white!" Skwisgaar stated, inspecting the young Norwegian's team.

"Hey, why doesh the robot get a ride?" Murderface demanded. "I wanted to ride in the shleigh with you!"

"Who won?" Nathan and Toki demanded in the same voice.

Pickles and Murderface shrugged. Skwisgaar seemed to be wholly fascinated with the white deer.

Klokateers came forward to take Tank and the reindeer team while Nathan and Toki piled out of their respective sleighs and ran for the Gear holding the camera.

"That was fun!" Charles told the remaining three band mates.

Pickles and Murderface gave him an odd look. Skwisgaar was asking a Gear how often Toki slaughtered white reindeer.

There seemed to be an argument going on over the photo finish. As Charles walked in their direction, Toki snatched the camera out of the Gear's hand and ran for Charles, Nathan hot on his heels.

"Charlies! Tells us who won!" Toki demanded, thrusting the camera forward. "And don'ts picks Nat'an just because you likes him best!"

Charles hoped like hell no one else read anything further into the claim that Nathan was his favorite and studied the digital image on the LCD screen.

He instantly saw the problem.

A sudden warmth and the smell of rum and spices told him Pickles was looking over his shoulder. A second source of heat and the smell of halitosis told him Murderface was peering over the other one.

"Oh, dat's a toughie," Pickles announced.

In the image, Toki's lead deer outdistanced Tank's nose by an antler length.

However.

A team of eight not-so-tiny reindeer was a lot longer than one super-sized horse. Nathan and Charles were looking _back_ at Toki as they hurtled by.

Toki's team crossed the finish line first, but Nathan himself crossed the line before Toki.

"Wee-ell," Charles said slowly. "What did you decide before the race? Would the first animal across win or the first driver?"

Two very blank looks, one in blue and the other in green, assured him that no such decisions had been made.

"Buts my reindeers won!" Toki whined.

"You didn't cross the finish line first, **I** did!" Nathan insisted.

"Boys, unless you decided beforehand whether it was the first animal or the first driver, there's no way to tell who won," Charles declared.

Twin glowers crossed Nathan and Toki's faces.

"I guess you'll . . . ah . . . have to try it again tomorrow," Offdensen stated.

This stopped the glaring.

"We could get a tent out here tomorrow, too," Murderface said, huddling deeper into his coat.

"Oh! An a big ol' pot a' wassail!" Pickles declared.

"Wes coulds have somes lunch and somes ladies," Skwisgaar said, rejoining the group.

"And a Christmas pudding!" Nathan blurted.

"Yeah! We has a party!" Toki cried delightedly.

"Hey, you! Shlaughter one of the besht hogsh for our Christmash racshe party tomorrow!" Murderface called to a nearby hood.

"And a reindeers!" Toki added with glee. The Norwegian suddenly sobered. "One of de _slow_ ones."


End file.
